


Four Leaves on a Clover

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and One meet up at a bar. Established relationship (two-thirds of a threesome).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Leaves on a Clover

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my [_Blonde, Brunette . . . Redhead?_](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/6483.html) and [](http://boosette.livejournal.com/profile)[**boosette**](http://boosette.livejournal.com/)'s [_These Old Days Shall Pass Away_](http://boosette.livejournal.com/1001168.html) and [_A Bloom More Sudden Than That of Summer_](http://boosette.livejournal.com/1006776.html). Shared universe of ♥, yay! Technically this would fall between _These Old Days_ and either of the 3some fics. I guess. Title from ["Sweet Blindness"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFTBERaBWL8&NR=1) by Laura Nyro (although the Fifth Dimension did a better-known version).

"Compliments of the gentleman at the table behind you, ma'am," the bartender said, setting something pink and frilly and fruity in front of Number One.

She took one look at it, turned just enough to see the 'gentleman' in question behind her—not someone she knew—and said, "No."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but removed the drink without further comment, and One returned to her padd.

A few minutes later, the bartender set a shot of straight tequila in front of her, saying, "Compliments of the woman somewhat to your left, ma'am."

Number One turned to see who the woman was—again, not someone she knew—and said, "No." She clenched her jaw, thinking, _I really should have worn the uniform and not this damn dress._

The bartender removed the tequila without even the raised eyebrow.

A few minutes after that, a glass of Andorian ale appeared in front of her. "From the thaan to your right," the bartender said, but didn't even take his hand off the glass. Number One didn't know any thaans personally, so she gave a slight shake of her head, and the drink disappeared.

A half hour later, a pint glass partially full of beer and a shot glass with—was that flames on the top? Yes; yes, it was.—appeared in front of her. "This is from the gentleman at the end of the bar, ma'am. I told him you weren't accepting drinks, but he insists he knows you and that you'll take this one."

"What on earth _is_ it?" One asked.

"It's called a flaming Dr. Pepper," the bartender said. "You drop the shot in and chug the whole thing down."

"Yes, I guessed that," she said, peering at the bluish flames. She sighed. "Yeah, I'll keep this one." Turning to the other end of the bar, she spied the grinning face of one Captain James Tiberius Kirk, and turned back to the drink. She followed the bartender's directions, dropping the shot in and chugging it in one long swallow.

Jim slid onto the barstool next to her. "Hey there, stranger," he said, and she shook her head with a half-smile.

"What the hell is this?" she said, pointing to the empty glass.

His grin widened. "I thought you might like it."

"It did, as a matter of fact, taste like Dr. Pepper," she said. "How are you?"

"Much better now," he said, eyeing her cleavage. "Did you wear a dress here to meet me?"

"If not," One said, not unkindly, "I'm surprised as to why I've got one on."

Jim peered under the bar. "And heels?"

"And heels," she confirmed.

"Oh, God," he said. "You're killing me."

"You'll survive it," she said, smiling. "Stay and have another drink, or leave?"

"Can we leave?" Jim said. "I mean, I thought we were trying to be discreet." He toyed with the empty beer glass with the shotglass still inside it.  
"That's why we're at this bar instead of the other one," One said, lifting her chin to indicate a table to her right. "Cait and Zel said they'd cover for us, if need be."

"Oh," he said, twisting to look at the table she'd indicated.

"Also, you owe Cait a drink," she said. "The dress and heels were her idea."

Jim's head flew up, and he signaled the bartender, who came over quickly. "A Screaming Orgasm for the pretty redhead at the table by the door, and . . . what does Zel drink?"

One shrugged. "Not Andorian ale."

"Well, whatever the science officer sitting with her wants." The bartender nodded and left.

"A Screaming Orgasm?" she asked.

Jim grinned. "Later."

"Oh, shut it, you," she said, swatting his arm. She stood up, twitching the fabric of the dress into place.

Jim stood as well. "Wow," he said. "Maybe I should have just offered to pick up her entire tab for the evening."

She laughed. "The dress isn't _that_ good."

"Don't underestimate it," he said, "but I meant the heels."

She held a foot forward and looked at it. "Oh?" The shoes were black, strappy, and not terribly comfortable, but Cait had reassured her that they looked good.

"I really, _really_ want to lick your ankles right now," he said, leaning forward, voice low and intense, eyes burning blue.

One sucked in a breath. "Let's get out of here."

"Yes," he said. Adopting a more conversational tone, he continued. "Your ship or mine? I have a water shower."

"Tempting," she said, "but unless you've changed from the specs, I have a bigger bed."

"Okay," he said immediately, and they left the bar.

* * *

  
"Huh," Cait Barry said. "Apparently One has a type."

"I was going to say that apparently Admiral Pike has a type," Zel said, sipping gingerly at the Alpha Centauri-brewed Guinness the bartender had delivered. Her face relaxed as it seemed to meet her standards.

Cait snorted. "That too."

* * *

  
"How was Vulcan II?" One asked, as they walked to the transporter platform.

"Good, I guess. Spock seemed to be happy to see his relatives, insofar as he ever quite seems to be happy."

"Be glad you didn't know him when he was fresh out of the Academy and was even more convinced that he knew everything," she said, with a delicate shudder.

"Oh, are you kidding? I send Chris flowers once a month to thank him for breaking Spock in for me," Jim said, grinning. "Although I gather that Spock seems to think that he's breaking _me_ in."

"They always do," she said.

"Vulcans? Or XOs?"

"All of the above. And as the only person involved in this conversation who was actually an XO for any length of time, I believe my experience trumps yours."

"It usually does," he said. As they'd reached the platform, he just managed to keep it from being innuendo, but barely.

They beamed up to the _Yorktown_ and talked about various neutral topics until they reached her quarters; while most of Starfleet knew that she and Chris and Jim were all involved, One wasn't one to flaunt her good fortune.

Once the door shut behind them, One half expected Jim to fall on her—perhaps on her ankles—but he didn't. Instead he looked around the room, slowly turning. "Huh," he said. "So you and Chris—?"

"Chris and I, what?"

"This is where it all started?" His gesture encompassed much more than just sex.

"Ha." One snorted. "No, that was in a hotel in Riverside."

"In Riverside?" She watched the gears turn inside his head. "You mean the night with the bar fight?" At her nod, he whistled. "Damn. I guess you're glad I didn't punch him when he delivered that stupid line about my father."

"For so many reasons," she agreed, and grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him over into a kiss. "Weren't you going to lick my ankles?"

"Oh, would you like that?" he asked between kisses.

"I want you on your knees," she said. "Whatever you do while you're down there is up to you."

"Well, then," he said, and sank gracefully to his knees, stroking his hands down her sides as he knelt. "I'll _start_ with your ankles." He looked up at her, grinning wickedly.

One sucked in a breath and shivered. _Fuck me, it's been too long._ "Jim," she said, trailing off.

He cupped her rear end briefly before sliding his hands slowly down the backs of her legs, sitting back on his heels and folding himself in half when he reached her feet. "Mmm, One," he said, lips against the top of her foot, before licking a stripe just under the top strap.

She gasped and balled her hands in her skirt, not having anything else within reach. "Oh, _Jim_."

"I like that," he said. She could hear him grinning, even if she couldn't see it, and he scraped his teeth over her skin. Kissing between the intricate leatherwork covering her forefoot, he stroked her instep and heel with his thumbs for a moment or two. He switched, and treated her other foot to the same lavish attention. She gasped again as he swirled his tongue in the indentation by her ankle and then dotted kisses up the inside of her leg.

"Jim, I don't think I can—"

"Wall. A couple feet behind you."

One reached back, found it with her fingertips, and stepped away from Jim's mouth, reluctantly, until she felt her butt bump against the wall. He crawled forward, and One had to swallow a few times. _So fucking hot._

The little shit knew it, too, because he grinned up at her before ducking back under her skirt. He kissed the back of her knee, making her jump, and sucked a bruise into the inside of her thigh. She reached out and grabbed a shelf, sagging against the wall.

Jim raised her skirt a few inches and spread her legs wider; she obligingly shifted her stance, and he rewarded her with the stroke of a fingertip over the crotch of her already-wet underwear. She shuddered, and he hooked his fingertips in the waistband and dragged it down a few inches. Lifting a foot off the floor, she helped him slide the cotton thong—definitely not Starfleet-issue—down to the floor, and, switching feet, off entirely.

"Was this for me, or were you worried about panty lines?" Jim asked, a smirk on his face.

She shrugged. "It's an A-line skirt. You draw your own conclusions." She hadn't dressed up for anyone else in most of a year, and she'd forgotten how much fun it could be—especially with a properly-grateful recipient.

The properly-grateful recipient in question groaned and dove up her skirt again, lifting one leg and draping it over his shoulder. Gentle fingers parted her, and his mouth, hot, wet, and insistent, sealed against her, his tongue circling her clit.

One cried out again. "Jim!" _Fuck._ She was going to explode, and soon. He sucked, wet and messy, and she felt his thumb stroking her and sliding inside. The pressure built and built until she was clenching her hands in his hair, through the fabric of her skirt, and calling his name as she saw stars.

Jim held her up; or, at least, she assumed so, because she was still mostly vertical when she came back to herself. He ducked down and disentangled himself from her dress and stood up to kiss her, face wet. She cupped his jaw with her hands and tasted him thoroughly, feeling the tension in him. However, despite it, he turned her slightly to one side, bunched up her skirt with one hand and delved between her legs once more, thumb on her clit and two fingers inside her.

She was still flying so high that it only took a few strokes to send her over the edge again, clenching around his fingers. "Shit, Jim." Two orgasms, and she was still almost fully dressed. "We need to lose some clothing." She tugged at his tunic, but she didn't have any strength yet, and for that matter, his hand was still up her skirt.

He laughed, withdrew his fingers with a twist that made her cry out, and licked them before stripping off his tunic and undershirt in one swift move. She watched with interest, raking her gaze over the muscles bunching under his space-pale skin. His expression went from amused to intense in a heartbeat. "God, the look on your face," he breathed.

Spinning her around, he unzipped her dress and pulled it over her head; she raised her arms helpfully. A moment later she stood in heels and a bra in front of him. The bra was plain blue, to match the dress; it didn't go with the thong, but she'd always thought that coordinated lingerie sets were overrated. Jim didn't seem to mind; he unhooked the bra one-handed in a move that seemed less of a _move_ than a habit and stripped it off her easily. The shoes had elastic straps; he knelt again briefly, brushed the back strap off, and she stepped out onto the floor.

One placed her hands on his shoulders and stroked them in a broad sweep down his chest as he rose, ending at the waistband of his pants. She unbuttoned them, unzipped the fly, and pushed both the pants and boxer-briefs over his hips. He took over and hesitated only a moment, when he had to push off his boots, and shortly thereafter he stood in front of her, as nude as she was. "I'm glad you left your hair down," he said, "although I do love unbraiding it for you."

She shivered at his words, which sounded more like a sleepover than sex but carried a weight of intent that slithered down her spine to add to the fire. "Bed. Over there. Now."

"Yes, sir!" He snapped off a quick salute, incongruous in his state of undress, and darted over to pull the covers back. Lying on his back, he smiled at her, sweetly, not his usual grin. "Come here, beautiful."

She did, settling herself beside him, tracing the muscles of his chest and abdomen. "Do you spend all of your spare time in the gym?"

"It's either that or chess with Spock," he said, tensing under her touch. "Are you going to—oh!" He gasped as she closed her fingers around his cock. "That—answers my—question." Jim leaned forward, caught her lips, and rolled her on top of him. She spread her knees and straddled him, his cock nestled right against her, her hands pressed to the mattress above his shoulders.

He groaned again, his hips jerking against hers. "Oh, God, One, give me _something_."

She lowered her head to his neck and nibbled along his jaw, following the tendon down to his collarbone and out to his shoulder. As she ground down against him, rubbing the head of his cock right over her clit, she bit his shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck," Jim said, drawing the syllable out as she tongued the mark. He set his hands against her hips and directed her movements, increasing the pressure and friction until she was close, oh so close.

"Jim," she said, unable to form enough words to ask for what she wanted, what she _needed_ , so badly—right _now_ —"Jim."

"Up," he said, tapping her hips. She lifted them obligingly, standing up on her knees, and he slid down, curling to fit between her thighs. Lifting one knee, she climbed over his shoulders so she could straddle his face and grab the headboard of the bed. A moment later, his hands cupped her rear end and his tongue probed inside her; she gasped and clenched her hands on the bed. God, this position felt extra-dirty and extra- _hot_. He sucked her clit into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue; she looked down, saw his mouth working on her, and came, with a deep, harsh sigh.

She slumped boneless against him, clinging to the headboard, and he wriggled until she straddled his cock once again. Wrapping his arm around her back, he rolled until he was on top, and clasped her hands in his. "Okay?" he asked, eyes searching her face as he raised her hands over her head and pinned them against the mattress.

One nodded, still languorous from three— _three!_ —orgasms, and he grinned, blindingly bright.

A hitch of his hips and he was sliding inside her, filling her, stretching her achingly tight. She arched her back and pressed against his hands as he bottomed out, his hips snug against her own. He shifted his hips forward, tilting hers up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Okay?" he asked again; why, she wasn't quite sure, but she nodded anyway, and he rocked into her, slowly, still slowly.

"Should I have left the shoes on?" she asked, and he laughed shortly, burying his head in her shoulder.

"As hot—as that—sounds," he said, punctuating his words with slightly-faster thrusts of his hips, "I think—I'm—good."

"Mmm, yes," she said, and he laughed again. She tightened around him, and the laughter turned to a gasp as his rhythm faltered.

"God, don't _do_ that unless you want this to be over really fast," he murmured in her ear.

"I've come three times so far. You don't have to hold back."

"Just—a bit—longer—" She could almost hear him doing geometric proofs in his head, and she deliberately tightened again.

"Shit!" he said, and bit the side of her neck where it met her shoulder. He released her hands and sent one of his between them, shifting his weight to his left forearm, and found her clit yet again.

"Jim—I don't think—"

"You _can_ ," he said fiercely, but sweetened it with a, "Please?"

It was really impressive how he could prop himself up on one arm and keep up completely different rhythms with his fingers and his hips, she noted with one small part of her brain as the rest threatened to go offline completely. Digging her nails into his shoulder blades, she shook against him until finally the sensations broke through and she came a fourth time, shuddering and clenching and crying out. "Jim, God, _fuck_!"

Only a few seconds later, through the haze of pleasure, she felt him groan deep in his chest and thrust deeply twice, three times, as he finished. He collapsed against her for just a moment, panting, before raising his head and kissing her deeply. "Thank you," he said, forehead pressed to hers.

"You're welcome," she said, and wrapped her arms around him.

Sometime later, Jim lifted his head from her shoulder and slowly, oh so slowly, peeled himself off of her. He withdrew carefully, and she slung her legs off the bed to go clean up in the bathroom. When she came back out, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking hesitant, and she sighed. She'd kind of hoped for a nice, long, blissful post-orgasmic haze—or at least a few minutes before Chris called—but no. They had to _talk_. "Hey," she said, and sat next to him on the bed.

"Hey," he said, turning to her. "Did you have fun?"

"What part of four orgasms and me screaming out your name did you miss?" she asked, unable to keep from at least a little acidity.

"I didn't miss that," he said, with a half-hearted grin. "But—" He sighed, and didn't continue.

"But?" she said.

He sighed again. "I'm sorry I'm not Chris."

One raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this was all about?" He shrugged. "I'm not sorry."

"You're not?"

"No," she said. "One Chris in a relationship is fine. Two Chrises would be awful."

"I meant—"

"I know," she said. "I'm still not sorry." She sighed. "Are you sorry I'm not Chris?"

"No," he said, frowning, "but it's not the same."

"It really is. The two of you aren't interchangeable, and neither of you is lesser."

Jim snorted. "Sure," he said, but he lay back on the bed and motioned for One to come lie against him. She did, but propped herself up enough that she could still see his face.

"This doesn't follow any mathematical laws," she said. "You are a hundred percent. Chris is a hundred percent. You and Chris, combined, are a hundred percent. Maybe it doesn't work like that for other people, but it works like that for us."

Jim raised an eyebrow at her. "When did you figure that out?"

"Thirty seconds ago," she admitted, pushing her hair back behind one ear.

He huffed out a laugh. "You're only maybe a half step ahead of us."

"It's an important half-step," she said, in protest.

He laughed again, full-throated, and curled up to kiss her. "I love you," he said. "Most days I have no idea why you like being around me, but I love you anyway."

"I love you too." They'd said it before, but usually in triplicate. Actually, now that she thought of it, always in triplicate. It was like she was in a relationship with three other people, not two—Jim, Chris, and Jim-and-Chris—and she'd somehow been neglecting one of them. Stupid of her. Wasn't she supposed to be the sensible one in the trio?

She combed her fingers through his hair. "Jim."

"Hmm?" he said, already starting to drift off a bit.

"I'm not going to stroke your ego by telling you why I like being around you, because it should be obvious. But I do love you."

"Oh, I know," he said. "You're not as collected and logical as you pretend to be. You're really just searching for a good reason to blow some shit up."

"And you're not as much of a reckless jackass as you pretend to be." She caught and held his gaze until he started laughing.

"Well, now that we've determined what Chris sees in us . . ."

One blinked at his words. He was right, damn him, but she wasn't going to say so. Before she could decide what she _should_ say, though, the computer beeped. "Captain, there's an incoming secure comm for you."

Jim jumped up and dove off the bed, and she chuckled. "Put it through, Ensign. Jim, relax; it's Chris."

"I feel like I should at least put pants on," he said under his breath as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Aww, and why ruin the fun?" Chris's voice came, amused, over the speaker; his face filled the vidscreen on the wall.

Jim jumped again, and turned to face the screen with his eyebrows furrowed. "I am _not_ going to survive this shore leave."

One just laughed.


End file.
